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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26324686">home is in the heart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothwyfe/pseuds/gothwyfe'>gothwyfe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>6 + 1, Bonding, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I want a hug! okay, Implied Child Abuse, Light Angst, Panic Attacks, Penelope-centric somehow but also not?, Team as Family, bad bitch penelope helping people, but sometimes... the people help the bad bitch, elevator scene but garcia and hotch bc im a sucker for cliches, for the gays, found family trope, girl idk, i believe in Penelope supremacy, lesbians? probably, light gotch because. listen, lots of comfort, shes my mom, sza fueled fanfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:22:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,181</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26324686</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothwyfe/pseuds/gothwyfe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Because she is the glue that holds them together, the light in their darkest days, the heart of the BAU.</p><p>(aka- six times Penelope helped a team member, and one time they all helped her.)</p><p>[ABANDONED ASF SORRY LOL]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Penelope Garcia &amp; Aaron Hotchner, Penelope Garcia &amp; David Rossi, Penelope Garcia &amp; Derek Morgan, Penelope Garcia &amp; Emily Prentiss, Penelope Garcia &amp; Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Penelope Garcia &amp; Spencer Reid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. JJ</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The last place on earth Penelope expected to end up working, mid-way through her twenties, was the fucking FBI. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s led a… not so lawful life. Some anarchy, cyberwarfare, vandalism, several felonies, shoplifting- it’s just not a great record. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she can promise you- that background check is </span>
  <em>
    <span>thorough</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She didn’t think that when Mr. Aaron Hotchner asked to put aside a life of saving baby animals and ripping off pedophile heads that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. But apparently he did. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some fifteen-year-olds should not be granted internet access. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some fifteen-year-olds post incredibly embarrassing things that she did not want to subject Web Analyst Mark Gordon to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But, nevertheless, here she is- the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the goddamn FBI, Quantico, Virginia. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She works alongside a pretty cartoon-ish group of people. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jason Gideon, for one, for like a week before that fiasco in Boston and his mysterious disappearance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aaron Hotchner- who’s a good bureaucratic man. One she would have tried to fight two years ago. He respects her and doesn’t try to tell her that her clothes aren’t ‘dress-code approved’ or ‘wildly unprofessional’ like that </span>
  <em>
    <span>bitch </span>
  </em>
  <span>Erin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer Reid, some kind of super boy genius with an insane memory and computing skill faster than her computers. A kid who apparently trips over his own feet and curls up on chairs like a cat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Derek Morgan (who calls her </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby girl-</span>
  </em>
  <span> leaving several goosebumps down her arms) who is built like an anime character and has the charm of a true gentleman. Some (she) may even classify him as her very own superman, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>mmm </span>
  </em>
  <span>those arms-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And finally. Agent Jennifer Jareau. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wants them to get along. Desperately.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Press Liaison Jareau, or ‘JJ’ as everyone calls her is impossibly polite and curt. She’s a 5’6 package of whoop-ass and anger, hidden by her beauty and charm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They are the only two women in the BAU currently, so it would make sense for them to hang out. And it’s not for lack of Penelope trying- its the lack of </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>from the other side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>JJ is absolutely respectful. She’s sweet- she always gives her a heads up on cases and tells her to cover her eyes at some more gruesome things. She’s never been outright </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least a mean girl, Penelope could deal with. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she doesn’t want to talk about anything else- she refuses to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every time she brings up her weekend? Shut down. Want to mention your coffee that morning from this cool indie place? That’s cool, Garcia, I have work. Mentioning the fact that your cat ran away at 2 am last night and you had to go searching for it? Crazy story, maybe catch me later? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Penelope hates it. The one thing she’s good at, </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>the time, is getting along with everyone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And JJ has no reason to hate her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So she’s going to get the bottom of this dirt pit whether it takes all her cyber-sleuthing and entire soul and body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s with this conviction that Penelope steps right into JJ’s closet of an office after closing a case she’d left on, no knock, no greeting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She opens her mouth- ready to invite JJ out for drinks- which she </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>the other’s free for because of some light Facebook stalking revealing a plan to simply stay indoors. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And stops dead at the sight in front of her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>JJ, face blotchy and red with tears, heels of her palms dug at her eyes in a clear effort to stop them. She’s sniffling, long blonde hair covering the left side of her face. Her back is hunched over the table, where reports and cases sent in are sprawled across the desk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope stands there- staring at the perfect Media Liaison who’s clearly not okay right now- mouth agape. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Garcia?” JJ chokes out, looking up. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion as her lip curls. “Wh-What are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope gapes for a second longer- but gets a hold of herself, firmly shutting the door behind her, and plopping down on the chair in front of JJ’s desk reserved for visitors. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“JJ,” she says softly. “Are you okay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>JJ stares, face shining with tears. “Garcia,” she replies, voice shaking. “This is sweet, but I need you to leave.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No?” JJ answers incredulously, face now turning red with what may be becoming anger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“JJ,” Garcia says, reaching forward for a hand that quickly jerks away. “What’s wrong? Do you want to talk about it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>JJ continues to stare, eyes beginning to harden. “Garcia. I need to be left alone right now, okay? And I need you to </span>
  <em>
    <span>get out</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The last two words are emphasized, leaving her heart panging. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to leave you alone when you clearly are not okay! We don’t need to talk if you don’t want to, but you can’t be alone right now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>JJ’s face quivers. “Don’t tell me what or what I don’t need,” she replies testily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“JJ,” Garcia tries her hardest to make her voice soothing. “I want to help you-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We are not friends!” JJ finally snaps, losing her patience. “I don’t want to be friends, and we </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>will! So you can get out!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Garcia leans back, bottom lip quivering. There goes her hope for girls night. The words dig a little hole at her, like pins and needles in her veins. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She closes her eyes for a second, breathing in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to leave.” She says, finally. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>JJ exhales harshly. “God, I’m just-” she breaks off, wetness seeping into her voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Garcia raises her head. “You’re what?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>JJ wipes at her face furiously. “It’s- you wouldn’t get it. You don’t go in the field. You don’t see it all.” She clearly aims it as an insult, wet glare strong enough to cut steel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Garcia frowns. “Is this… about the last case?” she says, at last. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>JJ’s entire face falls, and she slumps down into her seat. “It’s so- it’s so fucking stupid.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, no it’s not,” Garcia says, stepping around the table to kneel beside JJ.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It- the last case ended </span>
  <em>
    <span>well</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Everyone was saved, and we’re the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>heroes all over again.” The curse packs a punch Garcia was not expecting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So I thought it was fine, but- but I just got here and there are all these fucking cases all over my desk no matter what. Always.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Garcia tests her ground a little, going to lay a reassuring hand on JJ”s arm. It works- JJ leaning into her touch just the slightest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>JJ laughs darkly. “No matter what, we’re never going to be able to help them all. Never.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>JJ sniffles again, eyes turning red. “A few months ago, there was this child abduction- just a four-year-old. A little- a </span>
  <em>
    <span>child</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And we were too late- and he died. Along with the unsub- and it’s so stupid,” tears a flowing freely now, and Garcia begins to rub reassuring circles into JJ’s arm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“His parents- his parents will never get closure-” With that, JJ’s dam breaks, and her head falls forward. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope reaches up, wrapping JJ in a warm, full hug. “Shhh,” she says patting her back. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>JJ’s tears form a puddle in her cashmere sweater- but it’s okay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She holds JJ like that until all her tears have puttered out and her breathing has stopped stuttering and slowed to a steady, heavy breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” Penelope asks finally, letting the taller woman go yet still holding her arms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>JJ doesn’t meet her eyes, in favor of staring at the seemingly interesting carpet. She wipes at her face hurriedly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Garcia,” she begins. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh,” Penelope holds her finger to her mouth. “It’s okay.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>JJ looks up at her in surprise, then smiles sadly. “It’s not-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Let me make it up to you?” JJ insists. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Garcia bites the inside of her cheek, eyes wandering. She did come in here on a mission, after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well… how would you feel about heading out?” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Hotch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Elevator troubles; Hotch needs a hug.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: implied child abuse, panic attack</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Hey! Hold the door!” Penelope calls, heels clacking loudly as she rushes to the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The elevator doors slide shut just as her palm reaches the cool metal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope leans her head against her palm, sighing loudly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, after a long day, all she wanted was to get home and take a nice, long, warm bath, turn up some ‘Real Housewives’, and try a new cucumber face mask. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She straightens up, aimlessly pacing as she waits for the next door down. You know, for being the </span>
  <em>
    <span>literal </span>
  </em>
  <span>FBI, this place could </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>operate any slower. Ridiculous. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s been here for about 3 months now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s fine, she supposes- she’s paid to get all up in people’s personal business and put away some real evil-doers, making her imprint on the world every day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Plus her co-workers are an interesting bunch. JJ and she had made Ladies’ Night the newest tradition- every Friday, they head out to the local bar or club and get absolutely turned, dancing away the horrors of the week. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In stark contrast, Derek Morgan has quickly become one of her closest friends. They meet Sunday mornings at a new brunch place (Garcia always picks) and discuss the most mundane to the craziest childhood stories- of which she has many.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Reid is… an interesting guy. He’s an absolute sweetheart of a kid- freshly 22 with big puppy eyes. But the strangest guy you’ll ever meet. They get along, though- somehow, the two of them end up on smoke breaks together. A strange match- the two people you’d probably least expect to smoke out of the bunch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Aaron Hotchner is a guy she’s never able to get a read on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has entirely too much patience with her- when she turns in her resume in glitter gel and on pink stationery, when she blatantly breaks near 58 different dress code violations with one outfit, even when a new spiky bracelet pokes the poor man in the eye. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He likes her- this much she knows. Every now and then he’ll stick his head into her office (</span>
  <em>
    <span>batcave</span>
  </em>
  <span>), and ask her how she’s doing. Listen to anecdotes about her day, ask about the neighbor’s plants she’s taking care of, help her move heavy boxes of case files she’s digitizing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But anytime she tries to flip the script- ask about his wife, about his day or how he’s doing, even- complete silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Garcia?” An amused voice utters, snapping her out of her musings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She snaps back up to attention comically. “Sir?” She asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing here?” Hotch asks, a faint smile painting his lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Garcia quickly smooths out her bright pink dress, flustered. “Well, you know, I always work late on Thursdays, haha!” She swings her arm in a thumbs-up motion, trying for a cute Smoky Bear type beat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It comes off like a sixteen-year-old boy-scout instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hotch smiles, shaking his head ever so slightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What, uh, what are you doing here sir?” She stammers out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hotch scratches the side of his neck. “I’ve been working late too, ever since Jason stepped down.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After the Boston Incident, Gideon had stepped down- going on indefinite leave. Hotch had been named Unit Chief in his absence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope has a feeling the title is going to stick- though. Call it her woman’s intuition, or maybe her witch foresight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The elevator ‘dings’ lightly, the icon above it lighting up an amber orange. Hotch smiles again, briefcase swinging as he sticks his arm out, allowing Penelope in first. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They step in, standing awkwardly at opposite ends of the Elevator. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Garcia grinds the heel of her black pumps into the carpet, biting her cheek as she attempts to count the plating on the ceiling of the elevator. </span>
  <em>
    <span>1, 2, 6, 9- </span>
  </em>
  <span>fuck</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She lost count.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sighs loudly, rolling her eyes and starting again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>3, 6, 12,</span>
  </em>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The elevator comes shuddering to a stop, a loud series of crashes and bangs following a nondescript yelp from Hotch’s end of the box. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She turns to face him, wide-eyed and pale as the box shudders again. A bead of sweat rolls down Hotch’s forehead, and he backs up into the wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Penelope gasps, rapidly pushing her thumb against the bright red button. “Shit, shit, shit,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” Penelope yells into the speaker. The elevator whines and her hand wraps around the thin metal railing fruitlessly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Garcia,” Hotch hisses, motioning at the button. “You have to- you have to hold down the button-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” A crackle erupts from the speaker. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” Penelope answers, crouching down to better hear it. “Oh my god, hello?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi, ma’am, what seems to be your problem today?” A tired voice says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope sighs in relief. “Oh god, our elevator got stuck!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm.” A keyboard clicks in her ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s like, shaking and stuff!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And what building and floor are you on, ma’am?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Building 4, and the thing says,” she glances up. “The fifth floor.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmhm.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have to hurry, this thing is going to like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>explode </span>
  </em>
  <span>maybe-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ma’am, I’ve turned off power to the elevator for the time being. The fire department is on their way, they’ll be getting you out of there in maybe 6 hours.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope’s mouth falls agape. “6-</span>
  <em>
    <span> 6 hours?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She stammers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have a nice day, ma’am,” the voice deadpans. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope’s eyes widen more. “Hey- wait!” She yells in protest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The crackling ceases, and the elevator grinds to a stop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope sighs, turning to face Hotch- whose forehead is beaded with sweat, and face has turned a death-like pallor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” She tries hesitantly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hotch blinks and meets her eyes after a moment. “Um. Yeah. Yeah- I’m fine. Are you okay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope smooths out her hair with her flat palm, exhaling slowly. “Well, about as fine as one can be, stuck in an elevator,” she chuckles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hotch nods absentmindedly, pushing his back against the metal wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope takes a page out of his book, leaning against the wall so the cool aluminum lays against her neck. She glances over at Hotch- who’s paleness has yet to fade. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you’re okay?” She inquires, eyebrows furrowing. “You look all,” She lifts her hand motioning to him. “Like that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hotch blinks, lips pursing. “I’m fine, Garcia,” he sighs heavily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She holds up her hands. “Got it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope kicks her foot out, exhaling loudly. She glances up at the flickering lights. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s bored.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She opens her mouth- maybe she can suggest a game or something- but the lights putter out, leaving the small box in utter, pitch-black darkness as her squawk echoes through the walls. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She claws out with her hands, grasping for the board blindly. Penelope jams her knuckles against the biggest button- which she assumes is the help button- several times. She raps against the box itself, “Hello? Hello?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Garcia,” Hotch says harshly, listening to her failed attempts for a few minutes. “I’m pretty sure she’s not going to answer you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope groans, letting her head fall back against the railing, throwing her hands up. “Are you kidding me?!” She calls up to the sky. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As expected, no one answers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She throws her legs out in front of her, staring blankly into the darkness, listening to Hotch’s ragged breaths. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wait a damn minute. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hotch’s breaths come out in pants, harsh and jagged. It’s loud- which he’d never do on purpose. In fact, it seems like he’s doing all in his power to not let her notice this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hotch?” Garcia calls out tentatively. “If you’re not okay- I think I have some pain meds in my purse let me check-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m fine,” he chokes out, words stuttering. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is not her Unit Chief. His usual cool, calm and collected demeanor is gone, even in the added darkness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Garcia feels out the carpeted floor with her hands, reaching forward until she grabs the silky pant leg of his slacks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She places her hands firmly around his biceps- a mistake. He flinches backward with such ferocity that a loud, echoey ‘BANG’ is produced. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Garcia swallows, blinking away a blossoming of tears. She slowly backs her hand away, keeping it behind her back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hotch?” She begins quietly, careful to make sure to keep her voice low and steady. “I think you’re having a panic attack, right?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hotch shudders suddenly, rasping out a light “yeah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope nods to herself. This she can work with- This is something she’s dealt with. “Okay, I need you to do a few things, okay? Can you put your head between your knees?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She can’t see, but she feels the fabric covering Hotch’s ankle ride up- indication enough. “Okay. Now I need you to breathe with my counting, okay? 1, 2, 3-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She counts slowly, allowing herself to take deep breaths with him until she’s satisfied with the way his rasps have reduced, and she allows herself to place a steadying hand on his leg, patting it slightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How are you doing? Do you need anything?” She asks, same confident but quiet tone she used before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hotch inhales again slowly, clearing his throat slightly. “I’m okay,” he replies, gravelly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm?” Penelope replies, unconvinced. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thing she knows about Hotch- he would never break down like this. Working with him for almost 3 months now, she knows that the man internalizes a lot more than he lets on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d rather the lights be on,” Hotch grates, after an unbearable moment of silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope smiles. “That, I can fix.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her little flashlight didn’t end up lasting the full six hours- the woman on the other end of the emergency call did not lie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hotch walks her to her car- ever the gentleman. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She drifts behind him slightly, keeping up the pace but just far enough to see how he stands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t know how she never caught it before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s always on guard, always approaches men with the right side out- his dominant hand. He holds himself high, but it’s forced- he juts out his chest and holds his chin up like he’s practiced. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“My father wasn’t the best,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He had said in the elevator; as if that could be her small consolation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Penelope,” He says, arm out in front of him for her to step into her driver’s seat. “I want to thank you again- what happened was completely unprofessional-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope cocks her head, smiling. Never try to teach an old dog new tricks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hotch. We are friends now,” she reaches out to bump his shoulder with her fist. “There is no professionalism! And seriously-” she moves her chin down to look at him over the top of her glasses. “You don’t need to worry about it at all. You are still the big bad boss man.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hotch exhales through his nose, a slow honey-like smile spreading across his face. “Thank you, anyways.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Garcia shakes her head, amused. “See you, Hotch.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hotch doesn’t let people take care of him, or help him- but that statement? It pierced her heart and set roots. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everyone needs someone to look out for them- and if she must be that person? So be it. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>im so happy you guys are liking this fic I simp for yall so hard. anyways never thought id write hotch angst but here it is. garcia, ever the legend. stan gotch yall (unironically, I like them as a pairing- altho in this case its not)<br/>tumblr @gothwyfe</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Derek</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sleepover, tickle fight, broken glass. Knock twice.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She becomes best friends with Derek Morgan easily. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hanging out with him is like falling into old habits- it’s comfortable, warm, and snuggly. Just like his beautiful man biceps. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She remembers the day they first met- she was ‘blasting’ (playing at a moderate volume) Britney’s debut, and a mysterious humming had allured her enough to make her venture outside of her batcave. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now, her soft blonde hair splayed across Derek’s lap while the sits in her PJ’s and he pretends not to tear up over the last few scenes of ‘The Notebook’, its almost impossible to think of a time they weren’t best friends. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That day, he had frozen, mouth still shaped in the little ‘O’ mid-whistle. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Agent Morgan,” she had stuttered, her glittery pen threatening to fall from her orange manicured grip. “What, what are you-” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked like a deer caught in headlights- eyes wide, teeth gritted. He came closer to her, “Listen, Gonzales,” he had threatened, “not a word of this to </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She gaped, mouth slowly splitting. “You’re serious? You cannot think I’d keep this-” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not a word!” His own smile threatened to break across his face, and he bit his lip to try and stop it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope started to giggle. “There is no way,” she gasped. “Big, bad Agent Morgan knows every word to ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>From the Bottom of My Broken Heart’,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I do not!” He hissed, smile fading as his eyes flitted around. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, you do!” She accused, finger pointing. “Tell me who was </span>
  <em>
    <span>humming </span>
  </em>
  <span>if it wasn’t you!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek’s eyebrows jumped, exhaling heavily from his nose as he pushed her back into her office. “You can’t tell anyone!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now, he carefully threaded his hands through her blonde locks, and the soft plush of his fluffy PJ pants scratched her cheek. Her glasses sat askew her face as she watched the TV, but it didn’t matter- the moment was so comforting and domestic that she couldn’t bring herself to sit up and fix them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She opened her mouth, motioning for Derek to pass the popcorn. He rolled his gleaming eyes (Allie has just grabbed Noah’s hand), dropping a piece in and she hummed contently. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you still tear up every time we watch this?” she mused, still chewing the piece of popcorn. “This is like, the third time.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up,” he sniffled. “It’s sad.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope groans. “Ugh, come on! I’m bored with this.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am not!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we watch something else, now? It’s over.” She whines. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek snatches up the remote from her reaching hands. “Fine, but you can’t choose. I hate </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Desperate Housewives.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope frowns. “It’s just because you have no taste,” she grumbles. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What was that?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing,” she replies innocently. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I don’t think it was nothing, babygirl,” Derek grins, inching closer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope moves back on the couch, “Nothing,” she repeats. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He pounces, grabbing her around the middle and she cackles. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Noo</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I have no taste,” He repeats, mocking her, fingers grabbing into her stomach. Penelope only laughs harder, legs kicking in efforts to get him off. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She fails. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He gets her knees (a particularly sensitive tickling spot), and she gasps for air between the laughs. “Derek!” He, unfortunately, shows no mercy, only digging his knuckles deeper. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, she shakes him off, crawling away to a corner of the room. “You’re a monster.” She heaves, holding a pillow in front of her like a shield to brave his viciousness. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek grins in return, pointing the remote at her. “That’s for insulting my taste.” He turns back to the TV leaning back against the couch. “Talkin’ bout my taste, better check yourself,” he mutters</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope rolls her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Men. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She the pillow out in front of her cautiously, traipsing towards the couch, the hem of her too-long pants squishing under her heel. She takes a seat on the edge of the couch, far from Morgan- who’s turned on</span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘Forged In Fire’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He always swears if he didn’t work for the FBI he’d live in the woods, welding his own tools and building his own home. He watches this show fervently, shouting at the TV like it’s a football game or something. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope swears he wouldn’t make it without an internet connection. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The TV continues to play, and as it goes on, she feels her eyes start to flutter- it’s almost 12 AM, and the combination of the most boring show ever made? Tends to put a girl to sleep. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek notices, and he smiles softly, gesturing her to come over. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She glares at him suspiciously, hugging the pillow tighter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek shakes his head, turning back to the show. “Fine,” he says. “You can fall asleep over there.” He pretends to enamored in the show, yawning dramatically. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, she’s not going to do that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She slowly trudges her way over to him on the couch, and he wraps a warm arm around her, pulling her closer. Penelope nuzzles into his side, letting her head fall onto his shoulder and close her eyes slowly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She wakes with a start, jumping up and breath catching. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope rubs her eyes blearily, glasses pushed up to her forehead. She squints in the dark at the clock- which reads 3 AM. She inwardly groans- </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They have to be up at 7 again in the morning. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek shifts under her arm. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She peels herself away, moving back. She purses her lips, looking at Derek, whose face is obscured in the dark room- only a sliver of light from the bathroom manages to catch on his face, illuminated the brown skin and accentuating the soft curve of his nose. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope smiles. It’s not often they actually do get to do their movie nights- what with work, Derek’s side job, and her volunteer work. There’s a feeling in her chest that swells, seeing her best friend asleep. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek’s face contorts, his head quickly snapping to the side. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Never mind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyebrows pull together, and she moves closer, hesitating slightly. Should she wake him? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek’s entire body twitches, his hand barely missing her arm as he rouses. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope bites her lip. “Hey Derek,” she whispers softly, placing a placating hand tentatively on his arm. “Wake up, you’re having a nightmare.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek’s face scrunches up, and a soft groan comes from his lips.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope raises her voice, quickly growing concerned. “Derek,” she tries again. “It’s just a dream, come on,” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek’s hand balls up into a fist, all the muscles in his arm tensing up, and she barely recognizes- </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope falls backward with a yelp, hands catching her on the floor, her leg hitting the edge of the coffee table as Derek swings out loosely, hand open and twitching- barely missing her face.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek’s eyes snap open, wide with terror and fear- the beam of light hitting them just perfectly so she can catalog the absolute pain and anger that flashes on his face as his chest heaves and his breath catches in a strangled yell. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope blinks from the floor, hand still twisted in the furry white rug. “Derek?” She murmurs, questioning the obvious. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek’s gaze switches, unseeing of what was in front of him to her on the floor, and his eyes catch up on what seemed to have happened. He stumbles to his feet, arms open as he pulls her to her feet quickly. “Oh my god,” he breathes, settling her on the couch once again. “I’m so, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>sorry, baby girl, that was- that was completely out of-” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” she interrupts, stopping him in his tracks. “Wh- you don’t need to apologize.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek’s heartbroken eyes meet hers, and his mouth falls open. “I- I hit you,” he whispers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What!” Penelope answers. “Pssh, no you didn’t. I just fell back-” she fails to mention that it was his arm that caused her to but- silly little details. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek sighs sitting down on the couch next to her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s clear he’s exhausted- a faint glimmer of sweat decorates his face, and his breath is short and ragged. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope looks at him, frowning. “Are you okay?” she finally asks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek stares at the ground, blinking. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He says placatingly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope is not convinced. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stands up, finally catching his breath. “I’m sorry I woke you.” His genuine concern is painted over his face. “If you want to head home, I’ll drive- or, you can use my bed to get back to sleep,” he offers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope shakes her head. “I’m okay, I promise.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek nods. “I’m go- I’m going to get some water,” he says, quietly. “Do you want any?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She makes an effort to speak quietly. “I would love that.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She follows Derek into the kitchen, the switch flicking, and the bright light piercing her eyes. She shields them against the fluorescent bulbs, the only sounds in the kitchen being the echo of trickling water. She holds out a hand for her glass, but Derek’s hand twitches- </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They both look down at the shattered glass on the tile of the kitchen floor. The glass glitters under the kitchen bulbs, splattered across the floor like paint off a paintbrush. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope gnaws at the inside of her cheek, and she looks up at Derek. “Uh- where’s your broom? We can-” her voice falls flat as she sees Derek’s face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek’s chin wobbles, and his eyes gleam. His nostrils flare, and he barely regains his composure enough to flash her a quick, small smile. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope steps over the glass, care for her bare feet to not catch any of the glass, and she wraps him in a large hug.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek immediately breaks down into her arms, wrapping his muscles around her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek is a funny kind of crier- he doesn’t sob, he barely sniffles- he is silent as his tears fall, and he merely holds her tighter. In a way, it’s perfect for him- the immaculate composure, the need to accommodate others, to make them comfortable before him. The way he is more conscious of Penelope in </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>house than his own struggles right now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope wraps him a little tighter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek drives the two of them into work that morning, greeting the receptionist and janitors with the same sunny smile and laughing demeanor, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Carl, how are the kids,</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ and </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Jessica, I know you had a good time last night,’. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He walks into the bullpen, tall and strong as always. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At noon, he sticks his head into her lair, an extra cup of coffee clutched in his hand. “Hey mama,” he says. “Are you busy?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope swivels her chair around, reaching for the cup, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘thanks’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>falling out of her lips. “Never for you, my greek god.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek chuckles lightly. He glances around, quickly reading her computer screen. “Running diagnostics?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she answers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nods. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” he starts, clapping his hands on his legs. “About last night,” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” She breathes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I really, really appreciate you, Penelope,” the use of her name sends a shock through her body. He never uses it. “but you can’t tell anyone, okay? It’s a one-time kind of thing,” his eyes shine, showing a certain kind of vulnerability she has never seen him display. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Derek,” she replies. “Do you really think I’d ever tell anyone that?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek watches her, eyebrows finally raising. “No. No, and that’s why I love you.” He pats her shoulder lightly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She catches his hand, holding it there. “Derek,” she says. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m <em>always</em> here.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope wants to be there for him- because from the way he cleaned up that glass, and quickly wrapped himself tight in that blanket again last night- it was not the first time this had happened. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She needs him to know she is always here. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek squeezes her shoulders. “Always. I know that, mama.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope lets her hand stay on his wrist, thumbs rubbing a loose circle. “Good.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He gives her one last pat, picking up his mug and heading back out. He raps on the doorframe on his way out, two quick taps- just to let her know. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She hopes he does. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>derek. Let me give you a big fucking hug because i love you so much and you are one of my favorite characters ever. so much man. <br/>penelope is the best fucking friend okay and I know she cant keep a secret but she can when its like not something dumb or whatever. i love her too. marry me<br/>anyways, hope you enjoyed. lmk what u think, yktv</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i couldn't restrain myself. tell me how I have like a million fucking wips and all of them suck Anyways.<br/>the origin of ladies night here. i want to clarify- JJ never hated Penelope, she just has problems with getting close to people like everyone else in the bau because they all need therapy. anyways after this they didn't even get drunk, they just talked for like, so long. best fweinds. girls supporting girls. girls helping each other with traumatic events. loving it<br/>tumblr @gothwyfe</p></blockquote></div></div>
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